


"My Doctor John"

by OmalleyMeetsTibbs



Series: Tumblr Posts [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Doctor John Watson, Fever, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24686314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmalleyMeetsTibbs/pseuds/OmalleyMeetsTibbs
Summary: Sherlock has a fever. John takes care of him.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Tumblr Posts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782187
Comments: 3
Kudos: 76





	"My Doctor John"

John comes home from the clinic to see Sherlock lounging on the couch in his classic thinking pose—fingers steepled under his chin, eyes closed. From a quick glance, John could see that he was looking slightly sallow, and with a thin sheen of sweat across his face. Concerned, John walks over and sits on the edge of the coffee table. Gently placing his hand on Sherlock’s upper arm and saying his name softly to bring him out of his mind palace, John hovers near, waiting for him to resurface. Sherlock’s eyes blink open slowly as if tied down with stones. His normally bright, engaged, soul-penetrating eyes are dulled and shiny, unfocused. His gaze falls to John’s, and his head rolls to look more directly at him. His brows furrow in confusion and attempt to concentrate. 

“John? Why are you home so early? I didn’t expect you for a few more hours yet.” 

John’s back straightens, and his shoulders pull back in concern. “Sherlock, it’s evening. How long have you been feeling like this?” 

“Feeling like what? I feel fine,” he slurs, voice rough with a lack of use. John raises his brow looking down at his adorably pathetic flatmate. 

“Sherlock, you’re sick. You obviously have a fever, and you’re slurring. Did you drink or eat anything today?” 

“Tea. This morning. You,” he mutters, curling to face the back of the couch. John’s heart clenches at the sight and the knowledge of how little Sherlock cares for himself. With a light hand on his shoulder, he pulls him back onto his back. 

“Sherlock, I need to get some liquids in you. Have you had any nausea or any other symptoms? I’d like to get some paracetamol into your system to bring down this fever.” Sherlock feebly shakes his head. John feels Sherlock’s brow with the back of his hand. “Oh, god, you’re burning up. We have to get this down.” 

John stands and gives one glance back at Sherlock’s limp form before retrieving a glass of water and the paracetamol. When he offers them to Sherlock, John sees the shaking of his hands and the weakness of his limbs as he tries to wrangle them to his control. John sets down the glass and the drugs so that he can help Sherlock sit up enough to take them. He wraps his arm underneath Sherlock’s to slide up him up onto the arm of the couch. As they move together, John catches a whiff of Sherlock’s fruity shampoo mixed with his natural musk brought on by the feverish sweat. Shaking his head to clear it and focus on the task at hand, he rests him into a partially seated position before grabbing the water and pills again. Knowing Sherlock won’t be able to hold them securely himself, John raises the glass to Sherlock’s lips so that he can wet his throat before attempting the pills. By the time Sherlock finally gets them down and most of the glass drunk, he is panting with the exertion. John helps him shift back down into a more comfortable position and goes to set up a cold compress. Taking the alcohol and water mixture with a flannel back to the couch, he soaks the cloth and gently pushes back the sweat-matted, dark curls from Sherlock’s forehead to place the cool tonic to his now flushed face.

Sherlock’s eyes flutter open to find John’s. He smiles. 

In a slur, he says, “Oh John. My doctor. My doctor John. My John doctor. Such wonderful things doctors. Especially mine. My John. Always my John.” John smiles down at him then, watching Sherlock’s eyes slide closed. Already the cloth has almost become body temperature, so he turns it over for fresh relief.  
After a few minutes of sitting with him, Sherlock’s jaw slackens in sleep. John removes the compress to re-wet it. As he does, he presses soft lips to the hot forehead in a firm, gentle kiss.

“You silly man,” John mumbles under his breath, “What ever am I going to do with you?”


End file.
